


tumblr ficlets collection

by stickmarionette



Category: Football RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Magic, Alternate Universe - Mutants, Alternate Universe - Pacific Rim Fusion, Alternate Universe - Superheroes/Superpowers, Baby Dream Team, FC Barcelona, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-21
Updated: 2016-06-21
Packaged: 2018-07-16 09:21:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 2,845
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7262203
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stickmarionette/pseuds/stickmarionette
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I like AUs and I'm very bad at finishing things. Hence this. Will be updated when I remember to.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In answer to this ask from meretricula: tell me about the story where the baby dream team pilot a jaeger! :D

There had to be a smarter way to make people into pilots, and make them last. And so Project Quarry was born - children handpicked using a set of perimeters modelled on the traits of successful pilots, encouraged to grow into the types of personalities that tended to be drift compatible while being trained to be good fighters and keen strategists.  
  
The isolated environment of the Quarry was designed to encourage bonding. It had unpredictable results. Many of the kids missed their parents. The realisation that only the most successful few would become members of the jaeger program made them competitive, viciously so. The drop-out rate within the first five years hovered around 50%.  
  
Gerard’s parents hadn’t wanted him to be a pilot. He was supposed to go to a good school, get decent grades and have a perfectly nice life. His family were well off enough to ensure that. After all, the monsters at the gate didn’t stop people needing brain surgery.  
  
The first time he saw Coyote Tango fight on TV, though, he knew. He didn’t want a comfortable, easy life. He wanted to fight monsters.

  
  
*

  
  
In round five of the entrance tests, Gerard saw Cesc Fabregas for the first time. He was the only one who scored higher than Gerard. Which was pretty impressive for a scruffy, skinny kid who didn’t know his elbow from his knee, and Gerard said so, at volume.  
  
The very first thing they did was fight. If they hadn’t been so talented, so exceptional, they’d have been kicked out before a single day of training.  
  
But they weren’t just talented - they were compatible.

 

*

  
  
Gerard didn’t take notice of Leo’s existence for months, not until he glanced up at the latest ranking of test results and saw somebody new at the top.  
  
“Messi? Who’s Messi?”  
  
“The new kid. You know, the little one,” Cesc mumbled through a mouth full of sausage. “Always sits by himself. Name’s Leo.”  
  
“Swallow first, Jesus!”  
  
“Shut up, do you want to know or not?”  
  
When he finished wrestling Cesc into submission, Gerard glanced back at Messi. The kid looked kind of sad, all alone in his little corner. So Gerard started asking around.  
  
Something was different about Leo. He hadn’t tested in at the same time as everyone else in their year. One day, he just appeared in the dorms, followed by all sorts of weird whispers. Something about his brain made him an exceptional jaegar pilot. His simulator scores were off the charts.  
  
At this rate, though, he wasn’t going to make a jaegar pilot. No friends equals no co-pilot, see?  
  
Gerard couldn’t help but think what a bloody tragedy it would be if Leo Messi never made it.

 

 


	2. superheroes!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is the beginning of a superhero AU I had kicking around.

Barcelona was not a city where one went about the day’s business with one’s eyes glued to the pavement. The creations of clay, wood and concrete that made up her landscape, daring in their form and shape, demanded attention, if not admiration, from those who walked along her streets. That’s not to say that her people spent their days gazing upwards in wonder. No, they were much too purposeful for that.

The lack of attention could not, however, fully explain the peculiar habits of some of the city’s more unusual inhabitants. In particular, one habit seemingly shared amongst unusual inhabitants of cities the world over. Perhaps it was the dramatic backdrop afforded to cryptic conversations when they went on at such heights. Or the way the wind whistled through some particularly flappy materials (for instance, a dramatically flaring cape).

Whatever the reason, Gamper Tower’s roof had had its share of trespassers over the years. As it did right at this moment, although only one of the two gentlemen conversing near the edge of a very steep drop was, strictly speaking, trespassing.

“You really shouldn’t have come back,” said the one who was there by right. He wore a heavy-looking blue cloak, trimmed with red, and his shoulders seemed to slump beneath its weight. There was reproach in his voice, but it was almost completely drowned out by affection.

“Funny, I was just about to say that to you.”

His companion, dressed in carefully nondescript black, had a sharp, almost caustic manner. To the casual observer, he might have sounded rather unfriendly. Fortunately, the man in the cloak heard far more in the words than was said.

His smile was a little wistful. “It’s nice of you to worry about me, Luis, but really, there’s no need. You, on the other hand…”

Luis scoffed. “Oh, please. I may be getting old, but the day I can’t get in and out of a city undetected is the day I - ”

“Don’t say it.”

There was a rather pregnant pause.

“Fine. Then don’t change the topic. What are you doing, Pep?”

“My job, Luis. Have a little faith, will you?”

“Faith? When I know what this place is like? They’re all vultures waiting for you to fail.” Beneath the casual contempt in Luis’ voice, there was something brittle. Very few people would have noticed it at all.

But Pep always heard everything, at least where Luis was concerned.

“They’ll be disappointed.” With every word, Pep seemed to gain strength, his entire bearing changing until no hint of anything other than perfect self-assurance remained. The cloak suddenly seemed to fit him better. His words rang clear in the night air. “You know me. For this - I’d do anything. Be anything.”

Long used to his friend’s oddities, Luis only sighed long-sufferingly in response. “You’re an idiot. As usual. Well, I had to try.”

He took a step forward, then another, until he was perched at the very edge of the roof. “At least try not to get into it with the Madrid crowd too soon.”

Then he jumped off.

Such spectacular exits were something of a custom in their line of work, but most of their peers would at least say goodbye first. Luis never did.

He always had a knack for getting the last word.


	3. mages!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Baby Dream Team + urban fantasy type setting.

You know what? Fuck these guys.

Cesc throws up his hands, gives it all the juice he’s got. Let the idiots burn. It’d teach them a lesson.

Nothing happens. The fire keeps coming. Cesc tries again, and again, and - nothing.

The wall of fire vanishes with a snick inches from his face, like a giant shadowy hand reached out from the sky and snuffed it.

“What the hell - aaaaaaaaaaaargh!”

Three muffled thumps. Then, silence.

Cesc takes a cautious step forward, then another. Not a mark on the bodies. And fire doesn’t vanish like that when it’s being fought over by mages, not unless -

He gulps. There’s only one person who could’ve done that. “Look at that, you saved my ass again. Thanks, Leo.”

“What are you doing here.”

Cesc jumps a foot. That voice hadn’t - where had it come from?

One of the shadows clinging to the alley detaches itself and resolves into a small shape in a hooded black top. Blaugrana stripes down the side.

Of course, Leo’s not just Leo anymore. He’s the Hand of Barcelona. And Cesc’s technically trespassing.

“I swear this isn’t what it looks like,” Cesc says weakly.

Leo shakes his head. “Why did you come back?”

With his voice flattened down to nothing, he could be the Confessor. The emptiness of it snaps something vital in Cesc’s brain. Suddenly, he’s furious. “This is my home. I’m allowed to visit.”

Leo makes a soft noise; could be agreement, could be scorn. There’s no way to tell. “I’m taking you to see the Head.”

“What if I don’t want to go?

Leo pushes his hood down. He’s lost the baby fat, and cut his hair. He looks like a stranger. “I’ve got orders,” he says, implacable as stone, and he’s looking straight at Cesc but Cesc still feels like he might as well be a stain on the pavement. “Come on.”

“Wait.”

Cesc gingerly turns the nearest guy over with his foot. White crest, with the crown. Madrid livery. Fuck. This is bad. This is very bad.

“What about these guys?”

Leo shrugs. “The Eye’s monitoring me. He’ll send someone.”

This just gets better and better.


	4. la masia school for gifted youngsters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> X-Men AU! For meretricula.

The first time it happened, Xavi fainted.

When he came to, it was with Pep’s hands on either side of his face and Pep taking up space in his head. Warm, just on the right side of smothering/comforting.

 _Focus on me,_ Pep said. His lips didn’t move. _Don’t think, don’t look away, don’t try to talk. Focus._

His eyes were enormous up close. Xavi blinked and they were red-rimmed, tired and brimming with angry tears, and how could this happen, how could they be so stupid - he was going to fix it, fix it or die trying -

_Stop._

He came up gasping this time, Pep in every corner of his brain, keeping all else away.

_I saw -_

_Ssh. I know. Concentrate._

_What’s happening to me?_

_I’m going to fit you back inside your head._ Pep smiled, tapped the side of his skull. _But you need to stop chasing it._ He hesitated. _Do you want me to - turn it off? Just for now?_

_nononono please don’t_

Xavi saw things other people didn’t. Had as long as he could remember. He’d be incomplete without it, a shell of a person.

Pep’s smile got bigger. _I won’t. Now breathe and focus on me._

 

*

 

Xavi woke fast from the worst night of sleep he’d ever had, nightmares on his heels. His eyelids were heavy and his throat felt uncomfortably dry.

A glass of water was thrust at him as soon as he had the thought. Xavi hurriedly sat up to take it off Pep, who looked like he hadn’t moved all night.

Xavi polished off half of the glass before he felt able to speak. “Thanks. You look even worse than I feel.”

Jesus, where was his filter?

Luckily, Pep took one look at the dismay on his face and laughed. “It’s okay. I’m only a little wounded.”

“Sorry,” Xavi muttered. “In my defense, just had the weirdest day ever.” 

His head felt delicate, everything too sharp, and he could tell Pep was still helping to hold his focus, which was just embarrassing. He was too old to take up a resource as precious as Pep’s attention when so many of the kids needed it more.

“Don’t rush it,” Pep said quietly. He took the glass from Xavi and set it aside. Grasped Xavi’s hands and squeezed them, almost too tight.

The first time Xavi saw Pep as a small, nervous kid, those hands seemed enormous. Pep had been barely more than a kid himself, gangling and bright-eyed in his Cruyff Was Right T-shirt, the three-ringed Psionic-and-Proud badge pinned so prominently on his collar it felt like a shout.

He went around taking all the new kids by the hand and teaching them how to block, shrugging off their wide-eyed looks. It was a vital lesson, meant to keep the younger telepaths and empaths sane as much as anything else, but none of it was really any use against someone like Pep. As if a napkin could stop a cruise missile. 

The techniques he taught were useful for focus, though. Xavi ran through them in his head, concentrating on building up pathways that could be shut if he wanted to. He took a heaving breath, imagined flipping a switch, and for the first time that day felt like he had a handle on the visions.

“I’m good.”

Pep’s smile bought out the fine lines around his eyes. He let go of Xavi’s hands - Xavi pushed down the urge to flex them - and cupped his jaw, long fingers wrapping around the back of his neck, right below the hairline. “Congratulations. You’re now an adult by both baseline and mutant standards.”

“I’d have been fine with a party. Cake. You know, instead of all this drama.”

He half-expected a lecture on accepting-your-mutation-as-a-gift, but Pep just rolled his eyes like he’d heard similar complaints a hundred times. Which was probably true, come to think of it.

“I’ll have the cooks make you something nice.”

Xavi didn’t say _I was kidding_. It was best to go along with Pep on these things.

“Thanks. Can I get out of here today?”

Pep got the slightly unfocused look of a telepath holding two conversations at once and not bothering to hide it. From him, it always felt like an amusing and slightly patronising courtesy, like a magician slowing down enough to show their sleight of hand. Xavi waited it out.

“I’ll come back with Andres during the lunch break and we’ll see how you go.”

“Wait, what?” Xavi said. It came out far too loud, and he winced.

“Andres is going to help you get to grips with this new facet of your abilities. He already agreed.”

“ _I_ haven’t. I don’t want him to babysit me.”

As a graduate, being taught by a student seemed kind of embarrassing.

“You’d rather I did it? My methods don’t work for everyone - you know that. Andres is highly instinctive. He’d help you more than I could.”

Pep’s grip prevented him from looking away, no matter how much he wanted to. In the face of that unwavering stare, he couldn’t even lie to himself. Which was more than a little unfair, really.

The thing was, Andres had to carry too much already. Sometimes Xavi thought it tantamount to torture to make an empath that strong hang around other hormonal teenagers all day. He didn’t need Xavi’s baggage too.

“Please. Andres has enough on his plate. Don’t - ”

 

//Andres standing alone in a wrecked classroom, Victor’s scarf around his shoulders, tear tracks down his cheeks. Frowning in concentration, lifting all the shackles he’d carefully placed on his abilities. Lashing out.

“I won’t let you hurt him.”//

 

Pep dug in with his fingertips and Xavi’s breath went out of him in a rush. He’d balled his hands into fists without ever noticing, and it was difficult to make himself relax them, but he did it, and it won him an approving nod.

“You don’t think I’m being kind? I am. You can help each other.”

“I don’t want this for him.”

“You don’t get to decide that.”

*If not me, then who? You?*

It was dumb and unfair on Pep and he knew better than to say it out loud, not that just thinking it made much of a difference.

(Sometimes Xavi laid awake and thanked whatever god was up there that he wasn’t that kind of psionic. There was too much inside his own head already.)

“He does. Andresito’s old enough to make his own decisions. He’s strong, Xavi. Stronger than you or anybody else can imagine.”

Boy, but Andres would be pissed if he knew Xavi thought about him like he was a kid who needed protecting. Even if he was exactly that.

Xavi sighed. “He gets upset when you watch TV news.”

“I know. I don’t like that either,” Pep said quietly. As close as he ever got to sounding chastised. “But there’s nothing to be done, not while I’m in and out of his head so often. We’re too connected.”

“You could stop watching the news.”

Pep barked a harsh laugh. “I wish.”


	5. that one time Cesc said a dumb thing about Andres Iniesta

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some Baby Dream Team feels for meretricula.

“Well done, Francesc Fabregas. Really. Amazing.”

He knew that tone. He knew better than to take it seriously. And yet there were his insides, squirming uncomfortably right on schedule. “Shut up.”

“No, really. I mean it. You pissed off _Andres_. I didn’t even know that was possible. Why’d you even open your mouth?”

“I - I was asked, all right. They asked me on air. I had to say something.”

“No, you didn’t. You know how to say nothing. You’ve known since you were a kid.”

Cesc drew in a breath. “Are you seriously lecturing me about this? _You_?”

“I don’t say anything I don’t mean to say. Okay, unless I’m really drunk. Anyway, you were sober. Right? Please tell me you weren’t drunk on the radio.”

“Of course not!” Cesc snapped, before he could stop himself. _It’s a joke, calm the fuck down._  It hurt just the same, though.

Gerard could tell, of course. He could always tell, even though the phone and across an ocean. When he spoke again, it was in a voice Cesc hadn’t heard for a while. “Hey. Relax. It’ll be forgotten tomorrow.”

Somehow, Cesc very much doubted that. He knew Barca fans. He was one. But more immediately - “Is Andres really mad?”

“Disappointed, more like. Just say sorry, you know he’s a marshmallow.”

“Yeah, okay, I will.”

“Oh and Leo wants me to tell you to call him already.”

“You’re a liar,” Cesc said, hoping to be contradicted even as the words left his mouth.

“Okay, he didn’t. But he wants to.”

Pleasure and annoyance fought briefly in Cesc’s chest. Petulance won. “Leo can pick up the phone and call me.”

“He likes hearing from you,” Gerard said patiently. “God, you’re both morons. What did I do to deserve this.”

“You want that in alphabetical order or categorical?”

**Author's Note:**

> stickmarionette on tumblr. Come talk to me about terrifying telepath Pep Guardiola.


End file.
